“Oh, you poor dear,” Morag said as she went to the girl and helped her out of the dirty horse trough. “Come inside and we’ll get you changed and dry.”
Dripping, and already shivering, the girl walked past Angus without looking at him. With her silken clothes wet and her hair down about her shoulders, she looked like a young, frightened child, not the virago he’d come to think of her as.
She paused as she got a step past him. “I won’t keep this one to myse
lf. My uncle will hear of this.”
Since it was so quiet in the courtyard, everyone heard her, and when Angus looked up this time all eyes were on him. What had he done? Depending on what mood Lawler was in, his punishment of Angus could be severe, anything from flogging to being banished, sent away forever.
Angus realized that his silly game of trying to beat the girl back to the keep, then throwing her into the trough, was going to change his life.
Malcolm came to stand beside him. “You should go, boy. Leave McTern land before she tells him.”
“No, I canna do that,” Angus said as he straightened his shoulders and walked toward the castle. He could hear the intake of breath all around him. He wasn’t going to run. He was going to take whatever punishment was given to him. If the girl who’d been treated so were his... What? Sister? If a man had done this to his close kin, he would probably murder him.
Angus mounted the old, wooden stairs to reach the second floor of the castle. In time of war, the wooden steps would be cut away, making it difficult for an enemy to enter. But there hadn’t been a full-scale war in the area for a while, so the steps had grown old and rickety.
The castle was really just a big square tower with a smaller square stuck onto the side to hold the spiral stone staircase. There were other staircases inside, but this was the one that went from bottom to top, and on the second floor it opened into the Great Hall, where Lawler spent most of his time with his cronies, men who came and went and did little but eat and drink whatever Lawler—and the Scots—could provide.
When Angus appeared in the Great Hall, the girl, with Morag by her side, was standing in front of her uncle. He was at a square table, two men with him, and they were playing cards. Lawler was an ugly man, with a big red nose, and broken veins all over his face. He had to have a new wardrobe every year because his belly expanded while his legs shrank. Now in his late fifties, his legs were as thin as saplings, while his belly was so big he looked ready to deliver a child.
“What is it?” Lawler asked after a glance up from his cards. Next to him sat William Ballister, an Englishman who was older and uglier than Lawler. They were the best of friends, meaning that Ballister stayed until Lawler got tired of him and told him to leave—which happened about twice a year. On the other side was Phillip Alvoy, who was younger and better-looking, but everyone knew that he had a mean temper. No one ever crossed him or they’d have trouble with Lawler.
“He... he...” the girl began, but she was shaking so hard from the cold that she had trouble speaking.
“It is my fault,” Angus said, stepping forward so he was between her and her uncle. “I was spying on her and she had every right to do what she did. I alone am at fault.”
Lawler put his cards down, as did his two friends, and they looked with interest at Angus and the girl behind him. “Tell me what happened.”
“This great beast has been following me all week,” the girl said in anger. “Just days ago he loosened my saddle and made me fall onto the stones. I said nothing about it because I didn’t want to cause problems. But what he did today was intolerable. He followed me when I rode out, hid in the grass, and jumped out at me while I was sketching. If Shamus hadn’t been there to protect me, I don’t know what he would have done to me. Then he ran. Like the common sneak he is, he ran from me and I had to hurry back here. And when I got here, I justifiably applied my riding crop to him.”
“I see,” Neville Lawler said, looking at Angus. “Is that how your neck came to be bleeding?”
“Aye, it is,” Angus said stiffly.
“How did you get wet?” Alvoy asked the niece as he sipped a glass of port. The old stone keep might be falling down, but the liquor was always splendid.
“He...” She trailed off, shivering too hard to speak.
“I dropped her into a horse trough,” Angus said. He was standing with his shoulders back, his legs apart, his hands behind his back. He was ready to take any punishment that was meted out to him.
“You threw her into a horse trough?” Ballister asked, his voice showing his astonishment.
“Aye, I did,” Angus said, keeping his eyes level and on Lawler.
In the next second the three men looked at one another and burst into laughter. “Best place for her,” Lawler said, nearly choking on his laughter.
“Oh, but I wish I’d seen it,” Alvoy said. “Perhaps you could do it again so we could watch.”
“Like a play or a pantomime,” Ballister said. “A repeat performance.”
“What a good idea,” Lawler said.
“You’re going to do nothing to him?” his niece asked.
“Why should I punish him for doing what should have been done a long time ago?” her uncle asked. “I wish I’d thought of it.”
With that, the girl turned and ran from the room, waving Morag away when she tried to follow.